


Of Specialists and Deputy Directors

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, SHIELD agents - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kitchen and dead things never did mix well.</p><p>Alternatively: (Inhuman) Lexa is a high-ranking officer of the world's premier intelligence agency. Clarke is her girlfriend, who works as a specialist in the same agency.</p><p>Their kitchen is really not for dead stuff, but well, comes with the territory, yeah?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Specialists and Deputy Directors

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of happening in a Marvel-inspired universe. Maybe. Let's assume that it is. And Lexa might be an Inhuman. Wouldja look at that.  
> Basically what is says on the title. With a few add-ons, as a matter of course.
> 
> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

 

**Helsinki, Finland**

Specialist Clarke Griffin tiredly makes her way to her jet and settles in the cockpit. She has just wrapped up her assignment – something that involved a high-end safety deposit box, a stolen ambulance, and a fire extinguisher. It was supposed to be a simple retrieval operation, but if there’s one thing she learned in her life in a secret intelligence super-agency, it’s that ‘simple’ is not an actual thing. Nevertheless, it’s probably the least demanding one she’s handled to date, and that warrants some kind of celebration for its completion.

And she _will_ celebrate – later. Now she’s just sore, drained, and starving. Her dirty blonde hair is closer to _filthy_ blonde hair than she’s willing to contemplate, and she can feel ugly bruises blooming on her abdomen and right thigh.

She desperately wants to report back to base, eat a hamburger (or ten), and sleep.

(Hopefully cuddle with her girlfriend, but she’s not holding her breath for that one.)

She glances at her wristwatch (standard issue – and could shoot up to 70,000 volts). If she flies at maximum speed, assuming that her jet can handle it (which would be a miracle at this point, but hey, here’s to hoping), she should be home in less than three hours. She runs a quick scan of the systems, and finding them satisfactory (with only just 24% chance of system failure), she starts the engine and hopes that she won’t crash-land in the middle of the Atlantic.

 

****

 

When Clarke is sure that the jet is relatively stable (and won’t cause her premature death via plummeting to the deep end), she immediately logs into a secure network to contact their base.

 

A.R.K.E.R. Team: Charlie

**Clarke Griffin**

Code Name: Princess

Asset 319 Code PRNCSS 4-235

Status: Activated

 

Putting on the headset, she states, “This is Asset 319. Contacting Charlie Bravo.”

There’s the sound of static, and then Clarke’s handler say, “You finally decided to come back online, huh?”

Clarke laughs. “Hello, Raven. ‘Sup?”

“I’ll be fine, but I can’t say the same to you once you’ve talked to the Commander.”

“Shit.”

“That’s about right. A shit storm’s waiting,” Raven sounds entirely too amused, and Clarke makes a mental note to kick her ass later. “So, what do you got?”

“Theta Delta is secure. ARKER 100 is en route. ETA 0200.”

“Copy that, ARKER 100.”

Clarke leans back on her seat.

“Course is set. ARKER 100 will proceed to Gate C-19.”

“Gotcha.”

Then, a voice Clarke is intimately familiar with says, “Asset 319, this is Alpha 251. Initial self-assessment?”

Clarke smiles at that. The voice is sharp, precise, and yet she can hear the undercurrent of worry. (She’s sure she’s the only one who can.) “Just a couple of bruises, ma’am. I can manage.”

“I know you can.” There’s a pause. “Go check with medical upon landing. Dr. Nyko will be waiting. Debrief afterwards.”

With a heavy sigh, because food and sleep seem further away than ever, Clarke answers, “Copy that.”

Lexa sure does run a tight ship.

 

****

**Undisclosed Location, Canada**

 

Commander Lexa Washington stands amid the ordered chaos of the station’s command centre. The monitors in front of her show real-time footage of active ops, and several high-level strategists are currently in the process of making sure that their assets make it back here alive. The ones in Manila, Fujian, Porto Velho, and Sofia are doing rather well. The ones in Dushanbe, Albany, and Helsinki are not.

She’s especially worried about Helsinki – not that it’s obvious (Lexa earned the title – and code name – ‘Commander’ _not_ by showing feelings).

She knows Asset 319 can get the job done – it’s just retrieval, after all, and the only reason the assignment was given to a highly-skilled agent in the first place was because the object to be retrieved contains extremely sensitive data. (Although, Lexa admits that all data that come through their agency are more or less sensitive. It’s an occupational hazard, she supposes.)

So no, she’s not worried that Clarke would fuck up – Clarke never does.

She’s worried because what else can one feel, anyway, when one’s lover is on the other side of a freaking ocean doing dangerous things to save the world ( _again_ , maybe)? The situation is even more worrisome if said lover went dark and has not been heard from for more than five hours.

And the sad thing is: it’s not even the first time this sort of thing happened.

Clarke’s got a frustratingly extensive history of going dark for hours because her ops more often than not deviate from the original plan.

Every single time, though, she always comes back.

With that in mind, Lexa’s heart still goes into double-time when Agent Raven Reyes – Clarke’s handler, and also a close friend to the both of them – suddenly exclaims, “Commander! ARKER 100 just went online!”

ARKER 100 is Clarke’s jet, and Lexa snaps her head to the mechanical engineer. “Sit rep?”

Raven taps on her screen, and then Lexa’s own monitor shows the received transmission. With a swipe, the contact is authenticated and when Lexa finally hears Clarke’s husky voice in her earpiece, she just about keeps from audibly sighing in relief.

Lexa can hear a trace of struggle in Clarke’s breathing while speaking to Raven, and she knows that the specialist is playing down her injuries. _Again_.

(What is it with specialists and injuries? It’s like they have some deep-rooted grudge against admitting that they’re hurt, as if acknowledging that they’re _human_ is somehow equivalent to questioning their abilities. It’s aggravating.)

A bit restless (and glaring at Raven, whose remark was on point but _still_ ), Lexa asks Clarke about her present state. She’s pretty sure the answer she receives is only marginally true, and so she gives Clarke an order to go to medical when she arrives.

“Copy that,” is the reply, and Lexa knows Clarke doesn’t want to obey but will do it nonetheless.

She swallows back a smirk (it’s not good to look so smug in front of her agents, after all – it will affect how much they respect her, probably). “See you in two hours, Specialist.”

 

****

 

**Vancouver, Canada**

 

“At last,” Clarke beams, as soon as she’s through the door of the penthouse she shares with Lexa. “It feels like forever since I’ve been home last.”

Lexa merely makes a grunt that might have been agreement. The brunette agent slumps onto their couch and groans.

Clarke sits next to her and drops a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll make us sandwiches. Grilled cheese okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Lexa mutters, eyes closed. “Please.”

“You’re cute when you’re exhausted,” Clarke laughs.

“You’re cute,” Lexa says, eyes still closed.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who just got back from an out-of-the-continent mission. And yet you’re the one who’s acting like even _breathing_ is such an arduous task.”

“Shut up. You’re not the one who needed to oversee nearly a dozen operations to their conclusions, and had to take control when they inevitably went _wrong_.” Lexa grumbles. “I mean, is it really so hard to stick to the plan? Why don’t our agents have even a dash of common sense?”

“Aww, my poor babe,” Clarke coos, chuckling and dancing just out of reach when Lexa blindly swats at her. “I’ll fetch you food then you can complain some more, okay?”

“Okay.”

Lexa might have fallen a tad asleep after that, and it might have been seconds or hours later when a surprised “ _Shit_!” tore through the fabric of fatigued slumber that settled over her mind. She immediately shoots up and runs to the kitchen, her hand holding a gun as if it’s always been there.

It takes her a moment to sort out the scene.

Clarke is standing in the middle of their kitchen with a knife pointed at the open refrigerator, which is, wow, okay, displaying a severed human head.

“What is a severed human head doing in the freezer?” Clarke asks her, and it’s like she’s quite reluctant to believe that she just said that out loud.

Yup.

Lexa kind of forgot about that.

The blonde is now staring at Lexa with confusion evident on her face. Lexa says, “I kind of forgot about that.”

“I figured out that part, thanks. If you didn’t, you would have told me and I wouldn’t have jumped in shock. I wasn’t really expecting mutilated body parts in our top-secret home’s kitchen. Though I suppose, comes with the territory, eh? ” Clarke takes a deep breath and lowers her knife. She stares at the head, which appeared to stare back. Gross. It belonged to a male human being, she’s certain. “Who’s this?”

“He used to be head of one of the mobs down in California,” Lexa answers, walking over to the freezer and firmly closing it with the barrel of her Glock.

Clarke snorts. “That a pun?”

“Shut up,” Lexa rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to take it out last week. But there was a sudden surge in unclassified activities and it took a back seat in my priority list.”

Clarke nods, understanding. But still, “Why did you even bring it here?”

“It was Octavia’s first kill,” Lexa shrugs. “I promised her we’d dispose of it properly together. Then she got called out to another mission, in freaking Nassau. So.”

Clarke hums. Octavia is Lexa’s teenaged trainee, and they have a strange bond, but whatever. She’s not one to judge when it comes to bonding practices.

“All right, but next time, can you please choose a storage space that does not – coincidentally – store our food as well? ‘Cause I’m open-minded, but not _that_ open-minded.”

Lexa steps closer to the exasperated blonde. “I’ll requisition for a bigger and better one, I promise,” she says.

And by the sound of her voice, Clarke knows Lexa’s not just promising a freezer.

 

****

 

**Vancouver, Canada**

 

“You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.”

“For the record, she’s not dead. Yet.” Lexa looks up from where she’s kneeling on the floor. “And, hey, last time I checked, this is _our_ kitchen.”

Clarke scoffs. “You don’t even cook, dear.”

“Not relevant,” Lexa’s attention goes back to the young girl currently bleeding all over their kitchen tiles. “Care to help? You’re the better healer.”

“Ah, words to cherish,” Clarke positions herself on the other side of the girl, opposite Lexa. “Scoot and bring me my med supply.”

“Already got it.” Lexa hands her Clarke’s black knapsack.

Clarke smiles, “Then let’s do this, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke. Next time I won’t bring dead or nearly dead things in the same area that our food occupies.”

“I was gonna say that hopefully there won’t be a next time, but obviously that’s out of the question.”

“Obviously.”

 

****

“I’ve stabilized her as best I could, though we need to watch out for signs of infection,” Clarke announces, standing up. She works out a crick in her neck, borne of the long minutes spent hunched over a near-dead girl. “We need to move her to a more comfortable surface.”

“Okay.”

Clarke glances at the brunette, who is holding the unconscious – not near-dead, now – girl's hand tenderly. “I’ll clean up first.” She starts gathering up the instruments she used in the impromptu surgery, as well as the bloody cloths littered around.

When she returns, she helps Lexa move the girl to the extra room upstairs (taking extra care not to jostle her too much), which has been quickly tidied up. Then they tidy _themselves_ up, washing away the blood and sweat (and more blood).

They settle on the living room sofa afterwards, an old sit com rerun playing on the television screen in a low volume.

“So,” Clarke begins, “how are you?”

The inane question shakes a chuckle out of Lexa. “I’m mostly fine. You?”

Clarke shrugs. “I want some bacon, but we’re out of stock right now. I might do a midnight grocery run. Should I get you anything?”

Lexa is staring at her with an amazed and affectionate expression. “You’re not going to ask?”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Clarke says, easily. “So, bacon?”

Lexa simply stares at her, as if she’s in awe of all that Clarke is. “I love you.”

“I know,” Clarke smiles crookedly, “I love you, too.”

 

****

 

“Her name is Tris,” Lexa tells her in a quiet voice.

Clarke’s bright blue eyes find her forest green ones in the dark, gold hair flowing over Lexa’s lap – golden threads spilling onto the crimson carpet (like sunlight dripping into a sea of blood). Lexa’s fingers are soft against her scalp, movement rhythmic and soothing.

“She’s one of my people,” Lexa continues, “she’s... different.”

“Inhuman,” Clarke adds, unnecessarily, but Lexa nods.

“That’s why I brought her here. The world is not safe.” Lexa exhales a weary breath. “Not for people like me.”

“Don’t you think the Director would protect you?” Clarke means _you_ as in _not just Lexa_.

Lexa shakes her head. “The Director might have the best interest in mind, but not everything can be controlled. Especially if it involves young people with powers not yet mastered.” Her lips quirk up, “I mean, I should know.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“I called for my sister.”

At that Clarke shows the first indication of astonishment – though it’s barely a widening of her eyes. “Anya?”

“She goes by so many names,” Lexa murmurs, “I almost lost track of them.”

“And after that, what do you do then?”

“I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m not asking that.”

“You are.”

Clarke lets her fingers trace the line of Lexa’s jaw. “Yeah, okay. I am.”

 

****

**  
**

**Afterlife**

 

 

“Thank you for bringing her here.” Anya’s – no, apparently she’s Jiaying now – smile is small and wistful, as she looks at Tris, being led to her new residence. “The world is a dangerous place, especially for an unguided Inhuman child.”

“I know,” Lexa says. “She needs all the help she can get.”

“I promise we’ll take good care of her.” Anya (always Anya, to Lexa) turns to her with gently imploring eyes. “Are you sure you’re not staying?”

Lexa recognizes the look – it is the same one her sister used to give her centuries ago. It is a look meant to touch her heart and make her resolve crumble to dust.

She determinedly meets her sister’s gaze, and she remembers Clarke’s smile, and Clarke’s voice, and Clarke’s laughter. She remembers _Clarke_ , and her resolve is as strong as it ever was.

“Yes, I am sure,” Lexa replies, steady and unwavering. “I’m going home.”

Anya dips her head in acceptance. “I see. Just don’t forget that this place is always open for you, baby sister.”

“I won’t.”

Anya reaches out, cups Lexa’s cheek the same way she always did. “And I would like to meet her, Lexa, whoever was lucky enough to be called your home.”

“Someday,” Lexa says. Her smile is bright, “And to be honest, I’m the lucky one.”

Anya pats her cheek twice before letting go. “I am happy for you, and so very proud. Father and mother would be, too.”

Lexa clears her throat, memories from a time long past flooding back to the forefront of her mind. “Thank you,” she says, for that’s all that she can manage.

For now.

 

****

 

 Lexa is looking over the vast plains of Afterlife, right at the horizon. She sighs. “A storm’s coming. I should go.”

Anya nods. “Be careful.”

“I always am.” She turns around.

“May we meet again,” Lexa hears, just before she disappears into a ray of light.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that I never do know what I'm doing with this fandom.  
> I mean what even is this.  
> It started with this prompt: “What is [insert thing] doing in the freezer?”  
> Then it evolved into including this prompt: “You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.”  
> And also I figured, Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if Clexa is in BlackHill’s universe. (Because I’m BlackHill trash.) So. Here we are.


End file.
